


New Territory

by TheBananasaurus



Category: Captain America (Movies), Stucky - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Childhood Abuse, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Genitals, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Sexual Activity While Injured, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananasaurus/pseuds/TheBananasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve’s mother died shortly after childbirth and he was sent to grow up alongside Bucky in an Irish-Catholic orphanage. Bonding from a young age, they became close, and, during a curious, innocent moment, shared their first kiss. A kiss neither of them spoke about ever again...</p><p>Now, decades later, the Winter Soldier attacking Steve on a highway in modern day NYC was discovered to be Bucky himself. Steve quickly incapacitated him and brought him to his safe-house apartment, where he hopes to somehow evoke their shared lives through any means possible. </p><p>Unfortunately, <i>both</i> of them seem to have a lot more issues with their own bodies and sexuality than they'd previously been forced to come to terms with... Shame and self-loathing provide yet another barrier to the men who always dreamed they'd end up together.</p><p>[<b>Author's Note:</b><i> Based off of "What They Took From Us," a trans!Bucky RP between myself and Rainb0wDawg of tumblr. Hella angst, smut, and fluff. Also, bro-ship between Natasha, Sam, Clint, and Steve.</i>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Glimmer of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [New Territory: An Excerpt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737050) by [TheBananasaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananasaurus/pseuds/TheBananasaurus). 



[ **Author's Note:** _The first chapter will be almost identical to '[What Once Was Lost'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6807346), the version with cis-gendered Bucky. After this, things begin branching out._

 **P.S. :** _Bucky's eyes in the comics are brown, unlike Sebastian Stan's, but the rest of the Avengers (save for Tony, if he makes an appearance later on) will appear just as they do in the MCU. Pardon the confusion!_ ]

* * *

 

Though he'd technically won the battle by knocking Bucky out and bringing him to his safe-house apartment, with how his old friend had looked right through him and beat him half to death, it was clear he had another war to win. He had kept vigil over the stone-silent Winter Soldier throughout the night, forgoing sleep to simply sit on his sofa across the room from where the brunette was restrained.

The next day, however, after hours upon hours of agonizing nothingness, Steve had gone to change out of his combat gear and take a shower to get into something more comfortable - a sleeveless a-shirt and gray sweatpants. He’d cuffed the other soldier’s humanoid arm to his bionic one with high-tech SHIELD-issued meta-human containment cuffs, and wrapped a heavy-duty towing chain about both wrists before looping it around the pillar separating the entryway to his apartment, and the living room. 

So far, the restraints had held up… the first few hours after he’d come to, Bucky had screamed in twenty different languages and thrashed so violently against him that Steve had had to pop him in the temple before he broke his own arm off. After that? The second time the Asset awoke, he had all but shut down, like a machine with too much input it was unable to process.

The assassin sat, hunched over, his sweat-and-blood-tangled locks hanging about his war-painted features in a grimy curtain. His head hung between his shoulders that were forced into an uncomfortable raised position thanks to the way the Captain had pulled his arms behind his back, and legs were bent with the knees facing the ceiling. Still, he wore the military grade leather suit they had done battle in, and still, his heavy boots were planted firmly into the floor as if the barely conscious man would suddenly leap up and champ at his proverbial bit.

**"I uh... still use the same detergent, buddy. It's a miracle they even sell it,"** muttered Steve, chuckling with forced mirth as he came out of the laundry room with a fresh batch of linens to spruce up the couch cushions he'd lain on the floor next to his friend. A piss-poor excuse for sleeping arrangements, especially considering the assassin was physically incapable of lying down at the moment, but he was  _ trying _ .   


He fully expected to receive empty stares and silence at best, or a string of curses or possible violent outbursts at worst. Thankfully, it was merely the former.

The Asset lifted his pounding head slowly as if it weighed fifty pounds and  _ glared _ with glazed, unreadable eyes from beneath the shadow of his brow and bangs. All that Steve saw there was seething bloodlust, like some rabid beast being kept from the hunt.

The patriot met those hollow eyes and swallowed past a lump in his throat, making his Adam’s apple bob. He bit back a sigh and lowered himself onto one of the cushions just out of arm's reach, then crossed his legs Indian-style before holding out the powder-blue sheet he'd been yammering about. 

**"How are you feeling? You ready for a change of clothes yet?"** he asked with feigned nonchalance.

**“...Why are you keeping me here? Who are you?”** came the muttered, defiant growl of the Avenger’s captive. Steve, not expecting that type of ‘answer’, but able to tap into his own training to over-ride some of the emotional sting, merely nodded and thinned his lips grimly. He gave up his offer of the clean sheet and simply left it in a vaguely crumpled heap between them. 

**“This is my safe-house. Everyone in the damn world is looking for you right now, Buck --”**

**_“Stop,”_ ** demanded the Asset, clenching his teeth and jerking his head to the side as if he’d been struck in the face.

The sun-kissed flesh between Steve’s brows formed a faint divet.  **“Stop what…?”** he urged, gently, as if speaking to a child on the verge of a tantrum and not a severely emotionally disturbed grown man.

The Winter Soldier cinched his eyes shut and blew a harsh breath from flared nostrils.  **“Stop pretending you _know me_ , dammit. Who the ** **_hell_ ** **are you?”** He shifted slightly to angle his entire torso away from the man tugging at the tenuous threads of his sanity, dragging the short length of the chain across the floor in a dull ‘ _ clinking _ ’ in the process.

Steve’s jaw tightened, popping out his temples… but otherwise, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, didn’t blink. All he could think to do… was speak.

**“Steven Grant Rogers. Born July 4th, 1918, to Sarah and Joseph Rogers, Irish immigrants. My father served in World War I.... Killed in action. My mother died shortly after I was born of pneumonia. I got sent to the same orphanage you did, after your folks died. We were best f --”**

**“** **_Orphanage_ ** **…”** interrupted Bucky in a distracted, dream-like murmur, his agonized expression slackening as his lids peaked open to reveal slivers of chocolatey brown.  **“Where… Where was it?”**

Steve couldn’t help but feel just the tiniest flutter of optimism, but he was loathe to let it get a hold of him and give him too much hope when he knew how slim a chance he had of getting back his best friend just by stating facts about their childhood. That sort of thing… required a few years with a shrink, no doubt.

**“Brooklyn. New York City. The ‘Angel Guardian Home for Little Children,’ run by the Sisters of Mercy.’ It was a Catholic place, with nuns and priests. We hated it there, heh.”**

More humorless, contrived laughter. Steve was starting to wonder if that was his way of dealing with actual emotions - trying to laugh ‘em off. Like water off of a duck’s back, right?

**“S...Sister Mary…”** mumbled the semi-lucid prisoner, lolling his head up higher to meet Steve’s searching, stormy gaze. They finished the name together. **“Sister Mary Margaret.”**

In spite of his attempts to temper his enthusiasm, Steve’s lips quirked up on one side in that uncertain, boyish smirk he’d always head. As if the expression had triggered something in him, Bucky’s chest swelled painfully, and he… smiled back.

**“She was a stone-cold bitch, wasn’t she?”**

The Avenger’s brows ticked together further, deepening the crease between them until they very nearly touched, but his smirk deepened as well, dimpling the lifted cheek.

**“Dunno if I woulda put it that way, but yeah. She wasn’t good to us,”** he relented. A short silence bloomed between them, heavy with tension, but not… awkward. Both of them had things they wanted to say, they just didn’t know how. At length, however, Steve took in a short, steeling breath to expand the band of anxiety squeezing his lungs.

**“Ah… So d’you… Wanna change clothes? Or would you like a shower first?”**

Bucky’s smile faltered as he considered his options, then looked down at his torn, stained suit and the boot that had filled with blood thanks to Steve stomping on it. Assuming he got to have the shower to himself, he wouldn’t have to fear for this Steve guy seeing him naked. _ That _ was an entirely different rabbit hole he didn’t want to tumble down. 

Heh.  _ Hole. _ Christ, his old sense of grim humor still lingered a little, he guessed.

**“A shower would be nice,”** he nodded, voice still soft. **“But…”**

Indicating his current predicament, Bucky twisted his torso back to face Steve and arched his back a little to uselessly jostle the chain he was attached to.  **“You’re gonna have to let me out.”**

Steve grimaced, though not because he hadn’t thought of this beforehand - the ever-swift mind of the Captain was constantly several steps ahead and had a contingency plan for nearly every variable. Unfortunately, the only variable he  _ couldn’t _ account for was the singularly most important one:

Whether this was  _ Bucky Barnes _ he was talking to, or the  _ Winter Soldier _ , playing at his memories to use them against him, just so he could escape and…  _ finish his mission. _

The smaller man angled his jaw up to meet the other super-soldier’s troubled eyes, noticing his hesitation. **“You don’t trust me. That’s… probably smart. I’m not gonna run, though. Not until I found out who the** **_fuck_ ** **I** **_am_ ** **.”**

The grimace on the Captain’s lips narrowed into a tight purse at the salty language coming out of his those cherry-red lips he'd always wished he had the balls to kiss. Bucky had always had a bit of a dirty mouth, growing up, but he’d never been this liberal with cusses around Steve, since he knew Steve wasn’t a big fan of ‘em. This… wasn’t Bucky speaking to him. But it wasn’t the Winter Soldier either. It was… somewhere in between. Tantalizingly close, yet achingly distant. 

_ Lord have mercy on my soul, _ thought Steve, closing his eyes and shaking his head once before flicking them open again.  **“Alright. Don’t try anything funny, buddy. I can have my team down here in minutes flat if I need them.”** Nat, Sam, and possibly Clint would likely be hanging around the perimeter still, actually. So, make that ‘seconds flat.’

Bucky nodded, unblinkingly keeping his attention on the man that was Steve Rogers, but… not Steve Rogers. Not the _punk_ he had flitting through the fragmented memories in his mind’s eye. This guy had his face (save that squared jaw), his voice… those  **_eyes_ ** … But that _body_ of his was definitely not anything he remembered. The scrawny, all-bones body. 

Then again… _he_ certainly wasn't the same either... What was this _pain_ he felt? This isn't...

_ No. Not now. Face it later, when you have more intel. I need  _ **_more_ ** _. _


	2. Chapter 2

**“I won’t,”** assured Bucky, dipping his head once. He remained perfectly motionless aside from his eyes, keeping those on Steve to watch every move even as the other did the same.

The Avenger sucked in a breath and let it out in a short sigh. _Here goes nothing,_ he thought, leaning forward to plant one palm on the floor next to his captive, while the other reached out to the mechanized cuffs. He hesitated for but a half-second longer, before pressing his thumb into the print reader.

With a soft _‘beeep!_ ... _click,’_ the cuffs registered his identity and snapped open, retracting into half-circles . Steve allowed them to fall to the floor and unlooped the massive chain from Bucky’s wrists, finally freeing him.

Immediately, the Captain’s body tensed like a spooked cat trying to decide whether the person before them was friend or foe. But… all the Asset did was roll his aching shoulders and pull his wrist in front of him to massage it with the bionic hand.

**“Thanks.”**

**“Don’t mention it,”** muttered Steve in reply, rocking back to rest his backside on his heels. **“Need any help standing up?”**

He was side-eyeing him now, not allowing the small comfort that the assassin hadn’t _immediately_ shoved him down and bolted for the door to make him complacent.

Bucky broke the over-long stare to glance over his busted foot. HYDRA’s version of the super-soldier serum provided him with a healing factor far superior to normal humans, but though the bones had begun to mend, it would still hurt like hell to put weight on them.

He didn’t care. He didn’t need Steve’s help. **“I’m fine,”** he insisted. His captor looked on dubiously as he rolled his weight to his good leg - or as good as one can get with deep-tissue bruises from super-human kicks and a blow from that vibranium shield. As he raised himself into a kneel, he felt more certain of his ability to stand on his own…

Right up until he stood and tried to put the busted foot down. It gave out on him, mercilessly, and he cried out as the ground zoomed up to meet him--

But instead of getting a face-full of carpet, the Captain swooped up and slipped his arm about his torso, catching him just under the armpits.

**_“I got you,”_ ** whispered Steve, hefting his weight against his powerful form with a soft grunt, and slinging his friend’s metal arm about his corded shoulders. Once the initial shock of the flurry of action wore off, Bucky became _acutely_ aware of how close they were. Why… why did his proximity stir something warm and comforting within him? Why did this man’s mere presence seem to part the ever-present storm clouds haunting his thoughts?

Memories flashed through his head, of them laughing together over something goofy. Yes, he’d seen him like this before - with all this muscle, all this height. During… a war?

This fuzzy trip down memory lane was cut off when a feminine voice rang out from behind them, and a certain ruby-haired spy emerged from the hallway, wearing civilian clothes but clutching her pistol in both hands all the same. Her eyes narrowed on the scene before her and she lowered her arm, pointing the gun at the ground.

**“You boys playing nice, Steve?”** called Natasha, her lips quirked into a smirk despite the heat she was packing.

Both super-soliders snapped their necks around to look at her, Bucky with the furrowed brow of an assassin assessing a threat, while Steve’s face resembled a deer caught in blinding headlights.

**“Uhh, fine. Situation’s under control,”** he returned, tempering his surprise despite the fact that he _knew_ she’d seen it. That _look_ \- as if he’d been a child caught doing something naughty. He cleared his throat and glanced away, down at his and his friend’s feet as he slowly started making their way down the opposite side of the hall.

Natasha couldn’t keep the shit-eating grin from her features as she clicked the safety on her weapon. **“Came in the back last night when I switched watches with Clint - A little after the screaming stopped. I’ve got him on the perimeter and Sam back in the skies, though, just in case you were wondering, you know, what your team’s been up to.”**

She was never one to pull punches, was she? Verbally _or_ physically. Though, to be fair, the Captain had, in fact, somewhat forgotten to give them updates on Bucky’s condition. He’d assumed they’d be alright on their own, switching watches between them, but none of them had come through the front door during the previous day or night. Whoops?

**_“Yeeeah,_ ** **sorry about that, Nat. I was preoccupied. Tell Sam to come in and get some rest.”**

His sheepish, half-ass answer actually seemed to satisfy the woman, who nodded looked down to tucked the gun into the hidden holster beneath her pants hem. **“Mhm~! I** **_noticed._ He's alright. Sam had a nap in the van.** **”** she said, moving her eyes back up to the pair and leaning one hip out as she planted her newly freed hand on it. **"Has he said anything?”**

Steve eyed Bucky through his peripheral vision, who was focusing on not tripping over his bum foot and grimacing with pain. **“Not much, but I think he’s gonna come arou--”**

**“Do me a favor and stop talking about me like I’m** **_ngh --_ ** **… not here,”** cut in Bucky, voice rasping more so than before, with the simple strain of hours of shouting added to that of his multiple injuries.

Natasha lifted a well-manicured brow as the blonde muttered an apology. **“Sorry, Barnes, we’re not used to you being** **_chatty_ ** **. Speaking of chatter, though - I’m gonna have a listen on the on the radio and see who’s still looking for this guy. Holler if ya need me, Steve.”**

With that, the red-head turned about and vanished into the console room, likely to stare at the various screens and turn the dial on that all-wave radio for several hours. The soldiers lumbered onward, finally making it to the guest bathroom between Steve and Sam’s rooms.

**“She doesn’t like me much,”** noted Bucky dryly as they crossed the threshold, Steve awkwardly angling his bulky body sideways to facilitate the effort. The statement drew a soft chuff of laughter from him.

**“Most people don’t really cozy up to guys that shot at them,”** he grinned.

_That, and I’m pretty sure I tried to kill her several times on several different missions…_ mused the assassin. Steve wasn’t the only one swimming through his head now. She had been a little younger… less severe. Surrounded by girls of similar ages, training in combat. There had been… a red room? And then, mountains, and blood, and an explosion… And that dame’s face centered in the reticle of his sniper rifle.

Yes, he remembered her. But… she wasn’t that important. Even if he also had flashes of that pretty face twisted in what he had known at the time to be utter betrayal, there wasn’t much about the memory of her that drummed up any real emotion from him, since he’d only known her as the Winter Soldier. She’d been nothing to him but a possible recruit to HYDRA’s cause, and a failed one at that.

Steve Rogers, though - _he_ was important. Even as the man eased him down onto the toilet lid next to the glass-paneled shower, he felt a sense of…

_Сильное желание… sil'noe zhelaniye._ **_Longing._ **

_Oh **God.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _ **Author's Note** : Yeah-up. Nat's making her appearance a little early in this version. If you're also reading the cisgender version, ["What Once Was Lost,"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6807346/) don't worry, she'll show up eventually._ ;)
> 
>  _In addition, Bucky's memories are somewhat based off of the comics, so things may stray a bit from MCU canon. More canon-diversion, I know._ ]


End file.
